


Gonna be here til forever, so.

by geewhizmo



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Reconciliation, minor allusions to islamophobia, post March 2015, zouis friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-22
Updated: 2016-03-22
Packaged: 2018-05-28 08:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6321805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/geewhizmo/pseuds/geewhizmo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis shows up in the middle of the night, and Zayn lets him in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gonna be here til forever, so.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Always Gold by Radical Face
> 
> Not betaed or britpicked, I've read it over myself, but if there's any big glaring errors I missed, pls let me know! Oh, and I couldn't figure out what Zayn named that grey pitbull he has, so Husky helped me decide it was Barty (thanks hon! and thanks also to Di for helping me figure out a couple other things)
> 
> Dislaimer: Don't know em, don't own em, & please don't show em!

~

It’s raining the night Louis shows up on Zayn’s doorstep. Of course, it would rain when Louis breezes back into his life. He’s the smallest stormcloud Zayn’s ever known, has always been a whole lot of lightning, without any thunder.

He almost doesn’t recognize him at first, not with the thick scarf pulled over his nose and his hood up. Then he tilts his face up to look at Zayn, and he knows those eyes. Even in the dim porch light flickering over his face, even though he hasn’t seen them in ages, he knows.

Barty grumbles by his side. It was his barking that woke Zayn up, right before the doorbell rang.

“It’s alright,” Zayn murmurs, reaching down to rub between his ears. He’s reassuring the dog, but partly himself as well. Maybe Louis too.

Louis clears his throat, shoulders rising visibly as he takes a deep breath in, like he’s steadying himself to step on stage.

“So. You’re here.”

Zayn nods slowly, aware of the fragility of the air between them, and speaks softly, careful not to let it shatter. “I am.”

“Wasn’t sure if you would be.”

“At my house?” Zayn raises an eyebrow and risks cracking a smile. 

It’s worth it when Louis takes another shaking, steadying breath, the kind that happens when you’re coming down from a good cry. He rocks back on his heels and pulls his coat tighter around himself, like he’s grounding himself in his decision to be here.

The coat is thin, scarcely more than a windbreaker, and hardly appropriate given that it’s been raining all night.

“Do you think, um.” Louis bites his lip and frowns, like he’s angry at himself for letting his carefully bottled uncertainty cross over onto his lips. “Would you let me in?”

There’s a beat, a long moment where Zayn himself isn’t sure what he’s going to do. Then he takes a step back into the doorway and Louis tenses, a split second away from disappearing into the night again. 

Zayn leans into the door and holds it further open.

“C’mon in.”

~

Louis’ sneakers squelch as he toes them off in the entryway.

Zayn makes a face. “Just how long were you out there, exactly?”

Louis hums like he’s thinking and eventually holds up three fingers.

“Three hours?”

“No,” Louis sighs, shaking his head. “Three drinks.”

“Oh.” There’s a _lot_ Zayn could draw from that, but it’s 3am and neither his brain nor his heart are up for that just yet.

Louis hangs up his jacket, but he’s still dripping underneath.

“Do you want a towel or something?” Zayn offers. Louis nods so Zayn heads to the bathroom. 

He pushes up from the cupboard, towel in hand, to find Louis standing behind him.

“Hey, uh, kinda had to wee, if that’s cool.” He meets Zayn’s eyes for a moment before looking down at the towel. Zayn hands it to him.

“Oh, yeah, of course. I’m not exactly fond of people pissing on my floors, to be honest.”

Louis’ smile is barely there, a twitch in the corner of his mouth as he slips past Zayn. It could’ve been an accident, nothing more, but Zayn’s willing to think it wasn’t. 

Louis is here, after all.

~

Zayn ducks his head into the pantry and pulls out a box of noodles. He’s not sure what Louis’ here for, but if he’s gone to the trouble of making himself at least a little more comfortable, he’s probably not going to leave immediately. So Zayn decides he’s going to throw together some mac n cheese for them.

“Nice place,” Louis remarks when he comes back. “Is your, uh, Gigi, is she here?”

Zayn pauses as he stirs salt into the water. “No.” 

He holds his breath for a follow up remark, an easy, cheap shot, about how she’s blonde like Perrie, like the girl tattooed to his arm. Zayn waits for it, but it never comes. Louis just hums to himself, establishing the facts. Maybe he’s trying to make small talk, Zayn realizes.

“I’m making mac n cheese, hope you’re hungry.”

“Sure.”

Zayn turns over his shoulder to look at Louis. He’s standing on the edge of the kitchen where the hardwood floor of the hallway changes into tile. Whatever it took to get him here seems to have drained out of him and he looks lost with his towel rubbed hair jutting out all over the place. Zayn sweeps an arm around the kitchen, letting Louis know he can take a seat wherever he wants.

He’s almost surprised when Louis pulls himself up to sit on the counter, as he often would when they’d hang out together in the wee hours.

Some things, he supposes, don’t really change so much.

Zayn turns back to the stove. He wonders if Louis has a plan coming here, if there’s anything he wanted to say or do. But it’s never a good idea to press him for answers, it’s better to wait and let him feel out what he wants to do on his own.

Still, Zayn can’t help but feel a need to fill the silence between them, like if Louis isn’t talking to him now, it’s like he’s not really here, like Zayn could be imagining the whole thing. 

He pinches his arm for good measure.

It hurts, and for once, that’s a good thing.

Zayn clears his throat and finds his tongue dry against the roof of his mouth. He coughs.

“Uh, do you want some water?”

“Okay.”

Zayn darts over the fridge, rummaging around for the water jug. It takes him far longer than it should, but Louis is in clear sight out of the corner of his eye, and, well.

“Where are the cups?” Louis asks suddenly, and Zayn turns to face him so fast, he smacks his elbow on the fridge door.

“Fuck, um, two cupboards to your left.”

Louis hops off the counter and picks up a stool. Zayn looks down to find the water jug in his hands and closes the fridge.

The stool wobbles a bit under Louis’ weight and realistically, Zayn knows it’s very unlikely that he’s about to topple over and get hurt, yet he finds himself standing behind him a moment later, just in case. 

Louis gets himself and the two glasses down without incident and Zayn pours the water for both of them. 

Then he’s stuck. 

He’s thought about the things he would say, if he ever got the chance, would spent hours agonizing over how to word everything when he let himself.  
But of course now that Louis’ here, anything he’d planned to say is gone. 

Louis takes a sip of water, and so does Zayn, mirroring him without even meaning to.

When his glass is almost empty, Louis moves to sit down again, but his feet slip and he stumbles, almost falls into Zayn, and he reaches out to catch him unthinkingly.

Louis’ eyes go wide, but he doesn’t shove Zayn away. He stares at Zayn’s hand on his arm and Zayn realizes it’s the first physical contact they’ve made since forever ago.

It feels like they’ve never touched each other before.

“The water’s boiling,” Louis whispers. 

It takes a moment for Zayn to figure out how to unlatch his fingers.

~

They don’t talk much more while the noodles are cooking, but Louis pulls out bowls and silverware. He hovers while Zayn’s stirring, too.

They move into the living room when the food’s done. Barty’s already curled up on the rug. He half-rises when he hears their footsteps, before flopping down again with a soft woof.

“Some guard dog you got there,” Louis mutters with a huff that could easily be a chuckle.

“Oh, he can be,” Zayn warns. “He just figures you’re cool cos you’re with me.” He flicks a button on the fireplace as he goes by, and the electric flame crackles to life.

They settle down on the couch with just a cushion of space between them before they tuck in.

“S’gonna be weird being on break,” Louis admits, the first to break the silence. “I dunno what I’m s’posed to do with myself.”

“You’ve been on break a little while already,” Zayn points out, not that he’s been keeping track.

Louis just shrugs. “Still hasn’t sunken in, I guess.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Zayn assures him. “Go visit your family, work on some of your old hobbies, find some new ones…” He pauses to take another bite. “I took up archery.”

“That sounds cool.” Louis wrinkles his nose. “But I reckon if I tried that, people would just think I’m copying you.”

Zayn shrugs. “Eh. People think a lot of things, but I wouldn’t mind. Besides,” he adds, biting the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning, “You’re not the only one who got an ass tat.”

Louis chokes on his next mouthful and splutters, “No, you did not!”

“Yes, I did!” Zayn tries to keep a poker face, he really does, but the look on Louis’ face gets the better of him and he bursts into giggles.

Louis shoves him and they both laugh.

~

It’s easy to pretend things are fine for awhile then. They eat the whole pot of pasta and watch a godawful late night monster movie.

“Who in their right mind decides to keep going when they find a lopped off hand on the ground?! Seriously,” Louis continues over Zayn’s chuckles. “This acting is more unrealistic than the monster.”

“I dunno mate, that’s a tough call.”

Somehow, they’ve inched closer to each other on the couch, and every time Louis shakes his head at the screen, Zayn feels the tips of his hair brushing against his bare shoulder.

They wind down a bit by the time the credits roll. Zayn turns his head to look at Louis, slumped against the couch, toes tucked underneath him. He looks so soft, and tired, and familiar and Zayn wants to reach out to him so much, it hurts.

“Louis,” he says, and Louis tenses, doesn’t look at him. “I… I know there’s like, a lot of things that have happened, that I’m not going to go into,” he hurries to reassure him, “But I just. Wanted to say one thing.” Louis doesn’t move an inch and Zayn plows on. “For whatever it’s worth, I wanted you to know that I’m sorry. I didn’t handle everything as well as maybe I should have, and there were some things where I was in the wrong.”

Louis’ propensity for being incapable of holding his tongue is something Zayn’s often admired in the past, as much as it worried and sometimes even annoyed him too. It’s clear by the set of his jaw that Louis’ got something to say, probably several somethings, none likely to be very pleasant. 

But whatever’s on Louis’ mind never reaches his mouth.

Instead, he exhales slowly. “Yeah,” he says finally, and his voice trembles, “We both were.”

And that, that’s big of Louis, bigger than Zayn would expect of him, especially now. Zayn wouldn’t even blame him for yelling at him right now, but he just nods and accepts the apology for what it is. 

Maybe there’ll be other times for that, but for now that’s about as much as Zayn’s willing to provoke the elephant in the room. He’d rather not have a stampede on his hands if he can help it.

Louis untucks his feet from his seated position and starts to rise off the couch.

“Wait!” Zayn says, “Don’t go yet.”

“I’m not,” Louis says and he looks Zayn straight in the eye. “Left something in my coat I wanted to get you.”

“I, alright.” Zayn forces himself to stay seated, to not follow Louis and make sure he doesn’t leave. He watches Louis until he disappears into the hallway and hopes with all his heart that he’ll come back.

He does, returning a few minutes later with a small shiny square he tosses into Zayn’s lap. 

“Here,” he says, dropping back onto the couch again to Zayn’s relief. “Got a bit wet but it still has the plastic covering so it should be fine.”

The object is a CD and Zayn holds it carefully, knows what it is even in nothing but the dim glow of the television screen.

“I know you don’t fuck with it or whatever,” Louis says and Zayn winces. “So you don’t have to give me a review or anything, but I want you to listen to it. And I paid for it, so it’s not like you have to worry about-”

“ _Louis_.” Zayn hisses. Louis stops and looks at him expectantly. 

When Zayn can’t think of anything to offer, Louis huffs. “I’m just repeating your words back to you.” His voice is softer now, but far from gentle. He sounds tired though, like he doesn’t want to fight and Zayn takes the chance to open his mouth again.

“I, okay you’re right, that’s what I said.” And he’s not sure if there is an explanation he can give that'll really satisfy Louis, but he struggles to explain anyways, that he didn’t mean it as anything more abrasive than a shrug, that now he had the freedom to speak his mind without giving much thought for the consequences, for how his words could be interpreted, that maybe he spoke a little bluntly, knowing he didn’t have to worry about it reflecting poorly on anybody else.

He’d never had that freedom in the band, not publicly. Had to keep up that squeaky clean boyband image. He couldn’t even swear, even the tiniest thing would have him labelled a terrorist and dragged through the headlines, which would in turn drag down the rest of the band. Couldn’t even speak ill of _What Makes You Beautiful_ , the song they were all at least a little tired of.

So yeah, he thought _Perfect_ was boring and he wasn’t about to lie about it. And maybe he was a bit hasty when he figured, since it was a single, the rest of the album would be more of the same.  
But even so, that had nothing to do with who made it.

“I really did like the first single though,” he adds, and chances a glance at Louis, hoping he won’t try to guide the conversation back towards dangerous waters. “Thought it was sick.”

Louis hums thoughtfully, his eyes turned down towards his lap, gaze not fixed on anything in particular. He can tell Zayn’s being honest then, and Zayn hopes that’s enough for him, for them, at least for now.

“You’ll listen to the rest, then?” Louis asks finally. 

“Yeah. Promise I will.” Louis nods slowly and they sink back into silence again. 

If Louis has nothing more to say, he might leave now and Zayn quickly wracks his brain for something safe, some menial excuse for him to stay just a little bit longer, something that won’t have either of them quite so on edge.

“Wanna make popcorn? We can watch something else, your choice?”

“Sure,” Louis mutters and shoves off the couch. Zayn pushes himself up slowly to follow him. While it might be good for Louis to get some things out between them, it wouldn’t be good to push him anymore, so Zayn treads carefully. 

That’s the thing about Louis, he’s a bit like glass when he’s hurting. When he breaks, he’s very difficult to get a hold of, all sharp edges that are just as likely to hurt you if you try to put him back together without handling him the right way.

~

Zayn knew even before he fell asleep that Louis would be gone in the morning, but it’s still a bit disappointing to wake up alone on the couch.

He sits up and rubs his eyes, wincing at a crick in his neck. There’s a blanket in his lap he doesn’t remember putting there.

The CD is sitting on the coffee table, the plastic wrapping balled up next to it. Zayn frowns, because he doesn’t remember taking it off last night. 

He holds it in his hands carefully as he picks it up, drags his eyes slowly over the cover photo, perfectly visible in the light of day. He pops it open to have a look at the lyric booklet and almost drops the whole thing when he spots the slip of paper tucked inside. 

It’s a phone number.

Zayn’s phone is upstairs, charging next to his bed, and he almost trips over the coffee table as he stands and hurries up the stairs. Barty woofs and trots up the stairs after him. He passes Zayn at the top of the stairs and hops up on the bed before Zayn can reach it. Zayn gives him a quick scratch as he scrambles to sit next to him. 

He picks up his phone and turns it on.  
His fingers shake as he types the number in, as if he’s worried the slip of paper will spontaneously combust if he doesn’t get it in fast enough.

Finally, he’s got an empty messaging screen open in front of him. He twiddles his thumbs over the keypad before he settles on a chill greeting.

_hey_

He’s not sure what to say after that, because he can’t leave it there, but it’s so hard to think of a way to get across ‘ _it was really nice to see you, and it would be really nice to see you again soon_ ’ without freaking everyone out. 

Hell, maybe Louis won’t even respond at all, maybe he wishes he hadn’t given Zayn his number now that he’s sobered up to the reality of daylight.

Right, Zayn needs to stop overthinking this, and he finally hits send.

_i hope youre not feeling too hungover or anything.._

He doesn’t get a reply within the next fifteen minutes, so he heads downstairs to make toast.

His phone vibrates in his pocket just as he’s taking out the butter and he almost drops the packet.

Louis sent him a green faced emoji.

Probably hungover, then. Zayn sends him a suitably sympathetic response.

_:p_

The three dots signifying Louis typing appear immediately.

_think i m gnnna go back to sleep_

_good plan_

_zzzzz z…_

Zayn rolls his eyes and finishes buttering his toast. It may not be all perfect and fixed up like it should be, but. 

It’s something.

It’s definitely _something_ , and hopefully a something which will lead to a lot more somethings. In the meantime, Zayn settles down with his breakfast. He can wait as long as it takes.

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure if it matters, but I started writing this right after billboard, just before baby Freddie was born, so that's when it's supposed to be set, but then i got swamped with life and it sat in my gdocs till I finally just went heck it, let's post.
> 
> This is normally a subject I wouldn't touch with a 39.5 foot pole, but I got this lil idea in my head that wouldnt go away and it ended up being rather cathartic to write, so hopefully for anyone else it comes across as more soothing or at least goodhurty, not hurty.


End file.
